Terminator
by Osharashennaya
Summary: This is a translation of a Russian fanfic. Once upon a time, when grass was green and the author of this fic was young, he wondered why didn't Harry just turn bread into a Tommy Gun and kill everyone? beware of offensive language, racist jokes, animal cruelty, sexism...and all that is made fun of on the internet. /mfanf/ffshowfic.php?fid 49828&l 0
1. Chapter 1

"What I want to be when I grow up. My suggestions in (*…*) hope this helps! –josh,

Student Essay, grade 5, elementary school in Little Whinging Mr. H. Potter. "

A little boy in stupid round glasses and very shabby clothes sighed to himself as he looked at the ceiling and began to chew on the tip of the pen. Rushed by fast approaching death, an autumn fly flew in crazed circles, buzzing of the fluorescent light drowned in the buzzing of the fly.

The boy watched the fly's flight from the door to the first desk from the window, then to the teacher's desk and the trash can. Making a sharp turn around the trash can, the fly soared up, circled over the empty head of Polkiss Pierce, then banked sharply to the right, and once again rose to the ceiling, where it flew out of sight, to the back of the class. The boy sighed again, looked at the sheet in front of him, his name proudly displayed in the top right corner, nibbled a little more on his pen and wrote:

"When I grow up, I'll be big and strong, like the Terminator. I will have a great bike, a big gun and big muscles. Terminator does not like to talk in vain, and he is cool, and he doesn't have to go to some boring office job every day, and in the evening to go home to some boring woman that resembles a fish. Instead, he pulls out his big gun and goes to have fun. When he does, everything explodes, and the girls scream. I also like to look at the explosions, although I have yet seen them only on television, and sometimes I even think that killing can be quite fun, especially if you do it from the heart. I've already made up my mind that I will poison Uncle Vernon with acetone or liquid for cleaning the toilet, and probably going to beat Aunt Petunia with a hot frying pan until her stupid neck breaks. I have not quite decided what I would do with Dudley, but maybe it will involve a saw, hammer and nails, I just found a whole box in a shed. I'm going to hammer nails into his stomach and laughing maniacally. And then I cut the bodies into small pieces, put them into trash bags and take them to the dump. "

Harry raised his head and squinted at the clock hanging above the blackboard. Fifteen minutes until the end of class. The fly, having made peace with the world and with itself, sat on the pencil case of Samantha Douglas rubbing its feet, and, if you squinted, so that the image was slightly blurred, you could imagine that the fly is also writing something – a will, for example, or the fly version of Magna Carta.

Harry crumpled the sheet of paper and put it in his pocket, then pulled out a fresh piece of paper and carefully wrote:

"What I want to be when I grow up.

Student writing grade 5 elementary school in Little Whinging H. Potter.

When I grow up I want to become a scientist and invent a cure for cancer so that people no longer suffer. "

1.2

Harry had mixed feelings about Hogwarts.

Of course, on one hand, it was cool. The huge castle, the Great Hall alone could fit a football field, talking portraits, ghosts and the whole atmosphere of this magic ... well, you know.

On the other hand, there was no electricity. You can't expect anything good from a place with any electricity, and Harry had to mentally brace himself for cold baths. Fortunately for him, his fears were not realized, but Harry, however, still felt somewhat strained.

"Well, let's see what we've got," - said the distribution Hat when Harry's turn came. -  
"Oh, Momma," – it added, after studying Potter's thoughts a little more carefully

"Just not Slytherin." – telepathed Harry, trying to make his thoughts more menacing.

"I wish I could just assign you to Azkaban," - replied the Hat. - "And why not Slytherin? This rott... uh, this splendid faculty is the place for you, my child. "

"NOT Slytherin"- Mentally snapped the child.

"Look, it is traditionally considered the faculties of dark magicians" – the hat was fast talking now. - "Don't you want to be a dark magician? It's ... well, as you kids say… so cool! "

Harry thought about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named whom he learned about only recently, and not much at that, but who already made it to his book of Big Losers-I mean, how idiotic can you be, not even able to kill a baby? And the pale shrimp Malfoy, who he'd have to share the house with, he thought about it, and his desire to become a dark magician withered in him, without even properly growing. After reading his thoughts once again, the Hat sighed.

"So no chance at Slytherin huh? Well ... maybe this will teach you to direct your aggressive impulses in a socially acceptable direction ... "

- Gryffindor!

1.3

Despite his skepticism towards magic, Harry could not help but appreciate its benefits. With the help of magic you can levitate heavy textbooks, burn your classmate's hair at his old school he had to do it with a lighter, and that didn't feel that good, after all, the fire was too close to him for comfort, curse people with acne and Transfigurate Dudley's holey sock into a Spanish Boot. However, Harry could not do any of these things yet, but he was going to learn.

But the real revelation for him was Potions.

Harry happily let the professor's dramatic speech not reach his brain, instead drawing a lady with tits the size of which contradicted all the laws of anatomy.

- Potter! - Snape said suddenly. - What happens if I mix the pounded root of asphodel to the infusion of wormwood?

- No idea - Harry replied, and began to pick his nose.

- You must address to me as "sir" or "Professor" - Snape protested - and remove your finger from your nose; did you find a silver mine in there or something?

- YESSIIIIIIIR! - Potter stood at attention, staring at him. - And this is my nose and I do with it as I want

- As long as you and your nose are in my office, behave properly, if you please, - hissed Snape, losing his patience. Then, realizing, apparently, the absurdity of what was happening, he decided to change the subject.

- Well, let's try again. Potter, if I asked you to bring me a bezoar, where would you find it?

- I don't know, sir, - said Harry casually. - By the way, Professor, is it true that the best soap is obtained from human fat?

Snape choked on another sarcastic remark.

- Potter, you are out of your mind? - He asked almost losing his bearing. - Another stupid question and I will make soap out of you. Five points off of Gryffindor!

Harry shrugged, all their scores and other trash did not interest him, he was already thinking about his next question - is there magic napalm, or its equivalent? Realizing however that asking this professor anything was pointless, he dropped the matter altogether and he was left alone. The practical part also did not stir his enthusiasm, but as he indulged on how to make a potion to cause boils instead of curing them, there was a loud hiss, and the class was filled with acrid green smoke.

Climbing on top of his desk like everyone else, Harry looked at the classroom with the eyes of a tactician, looking at the future battlefield. His eyes did not miss the cauldron, molten to the state of a shapeless piece of metal, the black spots, which the hellish potion burnt onto the wooden desk surface, nor the hideous boils that covered the skin of its unfortunate creator.

When poor Neville was taken to the hospital wing, Harry sat down, glancing wistfully at the empty desk. The fact that this seemingly unremarkable boy was able to so easily do the things that he could not do himself, caused him some jealousy, but he thought that Longbottom should be kept in mind as a potential weapon of mass destruction - assuming of course, that his meteoric success was not accidental.

And he thought that he might begin to like Potions, accurately recording the professor's remark about the fact that the observed effect is caused by late addition of porcupine quills - and smiled, dreamily gazing into space.

Seeing that smile, the normally calm, cool and collected Professor Snape shuddered.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

1.4.

During a routine visit to Hagrid, somewhere between the eating the stone-like cupcakes and small talk, Harry asked for a mouse trap.  
- Why would you want that? – asked the surprised gatekeeper.  
- I want to catch a mouse, - said Harry. - I like mice, you know. Ron's got a rat, I want something too.

Harry kept quiet about the reason why he needed a mouse, as well as the fact that during the last transfiguration lesson he tried to turn his mouse into a tin cup (which according to the lesson plan, he was supposed to turn into a porcelain dish), using the formula he found in a third year's textbook. The mouse turned out slightly more iron than Harry wanted; in addition, it was the size of a large piglet and was the happy owner of two rows of sharp crocodile teeth. Sitting on the desk, while the mouse jumped in place and tried to grab the edge of its creator's robes with loud clanks, Harry thought that not all problems should be solved with the help of magic. Sometimes the most obvious way is the most reliable.

- Mice! - Harry whined that same evening, hanging out at the Gryffindor common room. - Mice!  
Sitting on the couch Lavender Brown screamed and just in case pulled up her legs.  
- Where? - She asked warily.  
Harry stared at her with a suffering gaze.  
- I do not know - he said with anguish in his voice. - But I need the mice! I like mice! Small greyish ... warm ... mice with tiny delicate feet and toes! Oh, how I would have loved them!

Harry wrung his hands in a gesture of despair, and then rushed to Angelina Johnson who just walked into the room.  
- Girl! - He cried. - My dear, good girl! I want mice!  
- Fuck off, pervert – replied Angelina.

- Hey, you're not going to put the mice into McGonagall's table, are you? – came a voice from behind. Harry turned and saw one of the Weasley twins - he was unable to carry out a more accurate identification.  
- Of course not- he said, putting on the innocence act. - That evil woman uses them as teaching material.  
Under the incredulous Weasley eyes, Harry sighed, but nevertheless admitted:  
- Actually, I'm going to put the inhumane experiments on mice.  
Twin gave a smirk and slapped him on the shoulder.  
- I advise you to ask Hagrid for the mousetrap. There is always Filch, but he won't give it to you. And I hope that the girl whose bag you put them in is worth it.

- Hey, Ron - Harry called out, going to the bedroom. - Will you go with me to Hagrid?  
- Sure, - said Ron. - But, Harry ...  
- What?  
- I wanted to tell you for a long time ... Get rid of your damn traps!  
- But, Ron, - said Harry - these traps are guarding the strategic approaches to my bags.  
- Maybe you have not noticed, but my bag is in the corner, too. And I haven't changed my bloody socks for three days!

1.5

- And no one touches the brooms until come back from the infirmary! Otherwise, you'll fly out of Hogwarts before you can even say "Quidditch". Come on, dear, - said Madam Hooch, as she led a crying Neville back to the Castle. As soon as they were out of sight, Malfoy laughed  
- No, his face, did you see that idiot's face?!  
The other Slytherins joined him, and very quickly broke into laughter.  
- Shut up! - yelled Parvati Patil.  
- Hey, Malfoy - Harry interfered. – You're just as much of a wimp!  
- What? - Draco said, turning to him. – Potter over here can't think of a better insult?

- It's not an insult, - calmly replied Harry. - It's a fact. I bet that if you fell off the broom, you would've burst into tears and called for your mommy!  
- Well, if you didn't notice, I didn't fall off the broom, Potter - Malfoy raised his head haughtily.  
- Not yet, -said harry as he grinned. – Let's have a little test, something that only real men would do.  
- I'm not competing with you. - Draco snorted.  
- Well, if you refuse, it shall be deemed that you have lost, right people?  
All the Gryffindors supported him with loud yelling, in which you could hear "coward!", "lame snakes" and "what do you expect from them?"  
- Fine then, tell me what you have in mind - condescendingly muttered Malfoy.

- The idea is simple - Harry said, pacing back and forth across the lawn, as if he was a professor at a lecture. – We get on the brooms and fly straight into the castle wall. Whoever is the first to turn is a faggot.  
- Harry, are you nuts!? - Hermione Granger butted. - It's too dangerous! Madam Hooch explicitly told...  
- Shut up, woman! - Harry yelled at her. Hermione froze with her mouth in mid-sentence, speechless, amazed, resentful and down-right furious. - Kinder, kyuhe, kirha, and do not interrupt the men's conversation.  
- I'll tell Professor McGonagall - Hermione said in a trembling voice. She then turned around, trying to hide her tears as she walked to the castle.

- So, Malfoy - as if nothing had happened, continued Harry, - what do you think?  
- Potter, you're really crazy - Draco replied, with surprise, even forgetting his aristocratic manner of speech. – You may not have any brains in that head of yours, but the brain in my head is still important to me!  
- Q.E.D. - shrugged Potter. - You think exactly like her - he nodded toward the crying Hermione. – Like a little girl… Ugh.  
If Draco had been a little bit older and wiser, he would have told Potter that analogy - is not the method of proof. However he was no older and certainly none the wiser, and thought that Potter who grew up amongst the muggles, would fall off the broom without even reaching the wall.  
- I agree.  
Harry smiled.  
- Ron, gives the signal - he said.

They straddled the brooms and hung in the air a couple of meters above the ground.  
- On the count of three - said Ron Weasley. - One ...  
Harry showed his opponent the middle finger.  
- Two, three!

To Draco's deepest disappointment, Potter not only fail to fall off the broom, but also managed to match his speed. Meanwhile, the castle wall was inexorably approaching. Potter was whinnying and neighing like a young horse, as he accelerated to blinding speed.  
- Hey, Malfoy! - Suddenly shouted Harry.  
Draco did not pay attention to him, but that did not stop Harry from finishing.  
- Malfoy, I luuuuuuurrrrrveeeeee youuuuuuu! - Harry yelled, and turned sharply to the left.

While Malfoy adjusted to the suddenly gone Potter at his side, the wall had gotten a very dangerous 20 meters closer. In a reflexive movement, he pulled on the handle of the broom, miraculously avoiding the collision; the bristles of his broom swept the wall as he pulled up.  
- That was awesome! - Potter said, walking towards him. - Hey, Malfoy, let's go again!  
- N…no, thank you, - he muttered, and then his eyes cleared. - Potter! You faggot! You turned first!  
- You know, Draco - Harry said softly, flicking a feather off of his sleeve - it is better to be a live faggot than a dead loser. In other words, I've fucked your brain.

- Harry Potter!  
Professor McGonagall ran to them from the castle.  
- For all the time ... for all time at Hogwarts ... no, never! What were you thinking? You could have broken your neck!  
She twitched with shock and indignation.  
- Miss Granger told me ... what would possess you to think that! Fly…racing straight into the wall ... why? The player who turns first, right?  
- Not really, Professor, - politely replied Harry fixing his glasses like a nerd. - The winner is actually the person with the non-fractured skull.

1.6

- Troll! Troll in the castle! - screamed Professor Quirrell, who proceeded to swoon… and then promptly crashed into the floor.  
- Wow! - Shouted Harry. - Who's with me to see the troll?  
In the end the only one who went with him was Ron, the rest pussied out.  
The troll was large and smelly, and his head seemed disproportionately small compared to its huge body. Harry guessed that the brain of this troll must be located in the sacrum, as in Diplodocus, but there was no more time to think that much into it – first off, this troll was aggressive, and secondly, smelled like a public restroom toilet.

Dodging the wooden club, Harry bitterly regretted that he had no gun with armor-piercing rounds - though it's not likely that armor piercing rounds would even scratch the creature, however, a Molotov cocktail would have come in handy.

Wait a second ...  
Harry crawled away from the troll, and found in his pocket a crystal phial, in it the improved version of Neville's anti-boil potion. It had dissolved all glass phials and Harry, by experimentation, found out that it melts a vast majority of metals…except for gold and once again Harry was glad that he did not listen to Hagrid when choosing cauldrons. At the time he decided to buy the solid gold cauldron as well as the regular one. Not only is gold non-reactant with many acids, it looks nice and has, to some extent, offset Harry's contempt towards his impoverished childhood – basically golden cauldrons are a good idea all around. Harry kept the bottled potion with him everywhere he went, all the time pondering the idea of trying it on his classmates. All the mice he had tried it on were dissolved completely leaving behind a softened skeleton at best. Looking at his current situation, however, it was safe to say that he didn't regret saving it until now.

While the sweaty beast was distracted by Ron Weasley who threw a piece of pipe at it, Harry ran up, jumped on the troll from behind and grabbed his arms and legs, as if climbing a tree. The troll, whether it was actually aware of Harry on its back, or its little brain was too slow to process the received signals and react, Harry had enough time to pull the cork from the bottle with his teeth and throw the potion into the trolls face, as if, for a second, it was not a foul creature, but a beauty queen who came in first before him.

The room was quickly clouded with green smoke that the potion had created, Ron and Hermione started to cough, as the smoke grew thicker. The troll howled and dropped its club; Harry rolled off the troll's back and gained some distance just in case then he quickly covered his nose and mouth with a sleeve. Focusing on getting to a strategic position closer to the door, he noted with satisfaction the successful outcome of his action. Potion effect on the troll similar when compared to the mice, it easily dissolved the trolls armor like skin.

The troll ran around the room howling in agony, and the children clung to the wall, knowing that at any moment they could be trampled. Not really sure of what he was doing, Ron pulled out his wand and shouted:  
- Wingardium Leviosa!  
Laying on the floor the club rose into the air, spinning slowly, until it was exactly over the benevolent troll.  
- Smack it, Ron, Smack it! - Cried Harry, jumping up and down in a fit of surging euphoria.

When the troll, struck by down its own weapon was sprawled face down on the dirty floor, Harry cautiously approached it and kicked several times with his toe. The troll did not move.  
- Is he dead? - Hermione asked warily.  
- I don't know - said Harry, trying unsuccessfully to turn the troll head off to one side, to see exactly what effect the experimental potion has produced. After several unsuccessful attempts, he laid himself flat next to the troll on the floor, pressing his cheek against the cold stone, and, holding his breath from the unbearable stench of the troll looked into its face, or rather what was left of it. There were no more eyes or nose, and through clumps of the dissolved cheek he saw large yellow fangs.  
- Harry, what the hell are you doing? - Ron asked, dumbfounded.  
- Guys! - Harry exclaimed, rising to his feet and ignoring his question. His eyes were shining. - Guys! We fucking killed the troll! Let's dissect him!

1.7

Harry walked slowly to a tall mirror in a gilded frame. Neither Snape nor Filch were heard, so he took off his invisibility cloak and looked into the foggy glass.  
The mirror was showing a movie.

Harry saw a tall man in dark glasses and leather jacket, holding a decent size grenade launcher in his hands. The man was walking down a wide street, occasionally taking potshots at passing cars. Cars skidded; they lost control, flipped, exploded and burned.

Suddenly, the street widened, and Harry saw a large square, lined up across a bunch of gloomy looking soldiers and an imposing looking tank. The guy with a grenade launcher, smirked negligibly, shot his last grenade at the tank, threw down his grenade launcher and pulled out two submachine guns out of nowhere.

Harry watched with bated breath, as the unknown character alone got rid of all the soldiers, without getting a single scratch, despite their large firepower. On top of that, the man in leather jacket was always smiling, it was a little bit stupid, but you could tell he was smiling from his heart.

Harry picked up the invisibility cloak, jumped up and rushed headlong to the Gryffindor Tower.  
- Wha? What? Potter, are you and idiot? I'm sleeping here! - Ron Weasley muttered, fighting off Harry with his hands and feet.  
- Get up! Come on, I'll show you something epic! - Harry tugged at him.

- Mirror? Movie? - Ron muttered irritably, on the run trying to get out of a sweater, which he hastily pulled backwards. – What's a movie?  
- You'll see now - Potter said, pushing him to the mirror. – Stand in my place.  
Harry walked away, from this angle he could see Ron's reflection - but now he was staring into the mirror.  
- Well? - Harry asked, losing his patience.  
- ... I see myself. And I'm…. older… And I'm holding the school cup and the Quidditch cup!  
- Yeah? - Harry scratched his head thoughtfully. - That means, the mirror only shows our dreams? And I really thought, I would watch a movie ... and show others ... for money of course.  
Although ... in the absence of one, money can be made off of another. Harry grinned - to get people to pay for their own dreams - it would be so ... conceptual. It was almost as good as selling drugs.  
- And I'm the prefect! - Ron continued enthusiasm - and I'm the captain!  
Harry looked at his red-haired friend with a semblance of pity.  
- You're stupid, Weasley - he said. - And you have stupid fantasies. Get away from the mirror; let's discuss the prospects for our new small business.  
- Business? - Ron asked, puzzled. Harry rolled his eyes and told him about his plan.

- ... Let's say, ten knuts per session.  
- Harry, I don't think it's a good idea - Ron said doubtfully, shaking his head.  
- We split the income- quickly replied Harry.

A spark lit in Ron's blue eyes.

Heya guys, me and my friend are trying to edit the chapter but we could use more help, if you're interested please send me a message :DD


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys, we really need another Beta the whole fic is about 19 chapters long and it will take me and my friend a lot longer to get things done once school starts, if you know someone who can help us with the American slang, preferably someone who curses a lot, it would be amazing thanks and enjoy.

1.8

- Ron shot upright in his bed- Oh no! The letter from Charlie was in the textbook that Malfoy took! Now he knows about Norbert!

- Malfoy knows everything - said Hermione, when Madam Pomfrey kicked her and Harry out of the hospital wing. – We are taking a HUGE risk!  
- We have no time to warn Charlie - said Harry. - Nothing can be done for him. However, I think we can deal with Malfoy.  
- And if he tells the teachers? – Objected Hermione.  
-Yeah, right, imagine, 'Potter brought a dragon to school and he plans to give it to give to a bunch of people during a secret meeting at the top of the astronomy tower? ". It's complete nonsense, no one will believe him!  
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.  
- Fine, sighed Harry. – You're right, maybe they will believe him. But we still have the invisibility cloak. And besides, it is possible that the professors will be a little…occupied.

- I think you owe me an explanation - said Hermione, when after finally getting rid of Norbert and bidding Charlie and his friends, farewell, they sat on the floor of the tower.  
- I don't know what you mean, - insincerely replied Harry.  
- About the fire, what else?  
- What an amazing coincidence, right? – Potter said enthusiastically, his glasses glittered ominously in the moonlight. - Perhaps one of those smart guys from Ravenclaw decided to experiment under the moonlight. Well that did distract McGonagall, otherwise I'm not sure how long she would have stayed in the hallway. Still I hoped that McGonagall wouldn't believe Malfoy's raving babbles.  
- Malfoy said the magic word - sardonically said Hermione.  
- What is it? He sang "good old days" didn't he?  
- "Potter" In conjunction with your name, even a story about dragons is starting to look credible.  
- I have overdone it a little, haven't I? - happily sighed Harry. – With my reputation?  
- Yes, a little - Hermione sneered, but then sternly frowned, unconsciously copying McGonagall - she looked extremely funny like that. – Don't try to change the subject! Fire, Harry! Don't think I'd ever lie for you if someone got hurt!  
-Do you think I'm an idiot? - Outraged Potter. – I'm perfectly capable of arranging a proper diversion without a murder. For your information, there was significantly more smoke than fire. If someone was stupid enough to die, then natural selection has taken its place.

- I'm warning you, - said Hermione. - And by the way, how did you do it?  
- Oh, that's my little secret - smugly grinned Harry.  
- That's it I'm going to McGonagall.  
Harry scratched his scalp, and thought that, although the stupid accomplices are tiring, the clever ones are more complicated.  
- Neville - he said shortly.  
- What? Are you saying that Neville did it? - Granger gasped.  
- No, you dolt - Harry winced. - Two weeks ago, he tried to create potion for cough treatment. The important thing is that it doesn't explode immediately, but over time, depending on the amount of ink nuts added. The black thick smoke…smells like mold. Don't you remember, Snape was yapping for ten minutes?  
- Ooooooh – was the only thing Hermione could manage.  
- At potion, who do you take notes after? - Snape?  
- Of course.  
- Too bad. The hell do you need a cough potion for? I write down whatever Neville does, makes a lot more sense. Here you are, all laughing at him, along with that hook-nosed asshole, but the kid, he's got a talent. Talent like that only comes…maybe every thousand years or so.

- That was still dangerous, - said Hermione, just to be the last one to speak, but by her voice, Harry knew that she had given up. As a reward, he decided to indulge her on one more piece of information.  
- Do you know the MacDonald Triad?  
- I've heard of something like it before - Hermione frowned in annoyance - for the second time this evening, it turned out that she was in some way incompetent.  
- It's okay, very few people know - Harry comforted her. - I once was at a school psychologist, after ironing one of Miss Figg's cats - he smiled dreamily at the pleasant memories - well, so, I overheard the psychologist lady talking to my aunt. The MacDonald triad is usually found in a potential serial killer, animal cruelty just happens to be one of the triad. I did not have arson to collect all three.  
- And what was the third symptom? - Hermione was not so easy to fool.  
- Sorry, I forgot - lied Harry. **  
- Do you want to become a serial killer? - Hermione asked nervously, moving away from him just in case.  
- No, the series - is not me, it is unlikely I will have enough faggotry to withstand a certain modus operandi, - said Harry quietly. – And I do actually dream of coming up with a cure for cancer, but don't tell anyone, it will be our secret.

Interlude

- Albus, I'm worried about Potter - Minerva McGonagall said at the next teachers' meeting.  
- Oh Mcgonagall, the boy is just being curious and active. Would you like some tea?  
- He set bear and mouse traps all over the Gryffindor tower, and he tortures the mice he caught at night. - grimly said Minerva. - And no, I do not want tea.  
- He nearly killed poor Mr. Malfoy, - said Madame Hooch.  
- He watered the giant sundew with blood - said Professor Sprout. - You know that if you sprinkle her with blood, she becomes aggressive? Of course, nobody saw Potter do it, but there was nobody else who could do it…or would do it. And I don't even want to think about whose blood it was.  
- He wrote in his astronomy essay that he saw battle tripods on Mars – Said Sinistra.  
- He asked me about birth control spells - added Flitwick.  
- Filius, HE IS ELEVEN! – gasped Professor Vector.  
- Exactly. And he asked, what spells butchers use to skin animals.  
- He s-s-stretched a rope across the hallway, - complained Quirrell. His Colleagues looked at him like he was an idiot.  
- We assume that one was just an innocent prank - McGonagall responded and went on: - He transfigured a teapot into a moonshine distilling machine!  
- Well, well, enough - Dumbledore raised his hand. - Has anyone suffered from the pranks of the young Mr. Potter?  
- Mr. Malfoy shat his pants - Madam Hooch replied sarcastically while looking at Snape, who remained stubbornly silent, ignoring her attack.  
- Miss B-b-Brocklehurst broke her knee - Quirrell said, and in answer to the puzzled looks explained: - W-when she tripped over the stretched rope.  
- Mice - reminded McGonagall.  
- Minerva, who are you to talk about mice? - Vector growled. She did not teach lessons to first years, and therefore Potter didn't bother her as much.

- As far as I can tell, - summed up Dumbledore - Harry caused no appreciable damage. Of course, for his pranks, he must be subjected to the consequences of his actions under school rules, but I think my colleagues have already given him detentions. As I said, the boy is simply active, curious and a little ... impulsive. Are we really going to punish him for it? Our task is - to educate and guide young minds, not to destroy the standing of their initiative, not to extinguish the bright light in their pure souls ... Severus, why have you been quiet?  
- What can I say? - Said Snape. – That, as a matter of fact, I tried to warn you?

1.9

It was Quirrell.  
- You? Oh come on! - Harry snickered.  
- Yes, I - Quirrell smiled complacently.  
- I thought it was Snape - Harry looked at the professor as if he were looking at him for the first time.  
- Severus? - Quirrell laughed with a high cold laugh. - Well, as long as he runs around here and there, pretending to be batman, who would suspect the p-p-p-poor stutterer p-p-professor Quirrell.

Harry loudly slapped his forehead and swore obscenely - there was no point in trying to be polite to the person who wanted to kill him.  
- Fuck me - he groaned, - that was the stupidest mistake I could make; if you see someone wearing a turban and acting all stupid… don't trust him. And of course he wasn't the one trying to kill me at the quidditch match?  
- Indeed, I was trying to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me down, in a hurry to set fire to Snape's robes, and broke my eye contact with you.  
- And you let the troll in as well? - Harry asked suspiciously.  
- Of course. I do have a talent with trolls - Quirrell said, and snapped his fingers. A rope appeared out if thin air and tied Harry's hands and feet. - And now try and keep still, I have a date with this lovely mirror.

While Quirrell circled the mirror, looking at it, knocking on it, if not sniffing it, Harry squirmed like a worm trying to wriggle out of the ropes - it would be a shame to miss out on this great philosopher's stone everyone was after, especially to this garlic reeking loser. When, in complete despair, he had already started to bite the stupid ropes, Quirrell quit his pacing, and muttered:  
- How does the stupid mirror work? Help me, Master!  
"Use the boy ... Use the boy ..." - voice, emanated, apparently, from Quirrell. Quirrell turned to Harry and freed him of the ropes.

This time the mirror was no longer showing movies. Harry saw himself, the reflection grinned, pulled a red stone out of the pocket, threw it from one hand to another, pretended to swallow it, and then put back in the pocket.  
- Well? What do you see? – Quirrell asked impatiently.  
- I see myself; I have invented a cure for cancer, and there is peace throughout the world - lied Harry, wriggled out of Quirrell's hands and ran off.  
- He lies - said the same strange voice. - I will talk to him ... face to face.

In stupor, Harry watched as Quirrell untangled his ridiculous turban and turned his back to him. On the back of his head he found another face - pale, like yogurt, with red eyes, and generally snake-like.

- HA! Look at that mug! Harry could not resist. - And you feed both heads?  
- Impudent boy! – Hissed the snake face. - You see what happened to me? I became a pathetic shadow ... the only way for me to take a physical form - is to live in someone else's body, though there have always been those willing to let me into their heart and mind. When I have the elixir of life, I will be able to create my own body. Now - give me the stone that lies in your pocket.

- You've got eyes like a rabbit - said Harry, and at that same moment realizing that once again he could move. – Need a little scratch behind your ear?  
He put his hand into the pocket of the robe, but didn't pull out the stone. Instead he pulled what looked to be a plastic bottle attached to a hose like tube and a water valve. The tube Harry transfigured himself from Hermione's pen, he was very proud of that one, almost as proud as the spell he put on the bottle – a clever spell that kept the small bottle from dissolving no matter how strong the substance he put into it. Not to mention that the bottle currently held the third and most powerful version of the anti-boil potions. Harry thought that the potion, perhaps, could use a new name - for example, "Hell Hound Vomit," or something like that, because of the boils would only come off with the skin they were attached to.

Red eyes widened in surprise of the opponent.  
- You know what this is? - Harry asked, moving his hand to the valve  
-what kind of muggle faggotry is that? – Fear filled his cold red eyes  
Harry sprayed the disgusting face with his newly created potion and said  
-It's a hose… bitch.

_

* "The good old days» - "Auld Lang Syne", a song based on poems by Scottish poet Robert Burns, which in the English-speaking countries traditionally celebrate the coming of New Year.

Triad ** MacDonald, other than the mentioned animal cruelty and pyromania, also includes enuresis.


	4. Chapter 4

2.1

- Dudley ... Dudley, oh Dudley where are you, cutie pie? - purred Harry Potter, bypassing the Dursley garden perimeter and looking under every bush. - Dudley, where are you, my dear brother? Uncle and auntie left, don't you want to play with your magical cousin?

Harry stopped in front of a large bush of peonies, seeing the familiar blonde and very fat, head sticking out of it.

- Come out, I'll show you a trick - said Harry, looming over a bush. The bush seemed to quake in terror

- No, please, don't! Not the tricks!

Harry grinned sadistically. He was very upset about the ban on the use of magic during the holidays, but, first of all, there are different kinds of magic, and not all of them require swinging a wand and twisting your tongue trying to pronounce an absurd sounding spell and, secondly, Dudley did not know about the ban.

- What would happen if we took three kangaroos and a cat, and mixed them all in a blender? - Harry asked enthusiastically, while slowly circling around the peonies bush. If there was anything to be learned from Dumbledore and the now deceased Quirrell , was the fact that sometimes it was useful to sound like a total nutcase.  
- Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! - He added in a sepulchral tone. The Peonies bush swayed and whimpered, and was then hit by a stone that flew out of Harry's slingshot. Judging by the hollow sound, which is usually caused by the collision of hard and soft, the stone hit its target.

- You're ... you're crazy! You fucking Asshole! - Dudley whimpered, crawling into the open. - I'll tell dad, and you'll go to jail!

- Me? Oh they would never send **me** to jail. Magic doesn't exist, don't you know? They'll think you're... - and Harry expressively tapped his forehead.

- Then you'll just get kicked out of the house! You're going to live on the streets like an old bum! – Dudley did not give in to Harry's verbal onslaught.

Harry shook his head. A strand of hair fell over his eyes; he raised his hand to move it, but suddenly went pale and began to tremble with horror; looking at his right hand.

-Fuck, oh my fucking god, anything but this… - Potter whispered, looking up at his cousin, his eyes filled with horror.

- What is it? – asked the now mesmerized Dudley.

Harry showed him his hand, which revealed a fresh ulcer, covered with a strange, greenish looking substance.

- What the fuck is that? – Dursley reeled back in disgust

- It's ... the magical African fever - Harry muttered. – Th…there was an epidemic at our school, I thought I was fine, I ... I don't understand...

- You ... are you contagious? - Dudley took a step back.

- Infected by touch, - whispered Potter, hanging his head. - Today I prepared breakfast… for everyone! Dudley, I'm so sorry, I didn't know…

- What will happen now? – Interrupted his cousin, quivering like jelly.

- You see this green crap? - Potter asked, sticking his infected arm under Dudleys nose. Dudley backed away, not thinking about the risk of stumbling on a garden hose and breaking his neck. - This is mold. It grows within the human body, first outside on the skin, then inside, too ... mold on the heart, the brain, everywhere!

- Is there a cure? - Dudley yelled, stumbling over backwards on top of his fat ass. – Anything at all…? his voice trailed off, desperation filled his small pig like eyes.

- Yes, - said Harry, getting back some bearing. - Around half of the students survived; however, we didn't completely get rid of the mold. But ... - his eyes lit up. - Dudley, is there alcohol in the house?

- Huh? Y-yes... there's Dad's whiskey…

- Dudley, hurry and drink the whiskey! You have no symptoms yet, you still have time! Alcohol kills the mold, Hurry Dudley!

Dudley jumped to his feet with unimaginable agility for his size, and ran towards the house, but after a few steps, stopped.

- And you? - He asked suspiciously.

Harry shook his head.

- It will not help - he said in a trembling voice. – The mold is already growing inside me. I'd rather stay here...

His voice broke and he turned away, as if trying to hide his tears.

- Dad will get real mad if I drink his whiskey - Dudley said uncertainly.

- If you die, he'll be even madder! - Potter retorted. Dudley turned and rushed to the house. After the back door slammed, Harry sat down on aunt Petunia cherished lawn; his back to the house, so that his expression could not be seen from the window, and laughed silently, imagining Uncle Vernon's face when he finds drunken Dudley in the living room. Then he wiped his right hand on his pants, which had some green paint mixed with the mashed potatoes, and sinister plague turned into a fresh wound he had received this morning, rubbing grated cheese.

After all, one doesn't need a wand to do real magic.

2.2

- Well, hello, my friend in suffering - said Harry Potter, carefully closing the attic hatch.

The Weasley ghoul looked at him, tilted his head to one side, bared his teeth and growled softly.

- Ah, ah, ah - retorted Harry – don't you growl at me. I'm bigger, smarter and I have a hammer. You don't want me to test it on your head now, do you?

The ghoul growled once more, then walked to the corner, picked up a rusty chunk of metal and deliberately dropped it to the floor with a loud clang, expectantly looking at Harry.

- Beautiful sound - praised him Harry. - Very industrial. If you behave, I'll catch you some spiders.

He started cleaning out the attic, then a little later took out a bag had had brought up with him. He emptied the bag of its contents: a hammer, pliers, a saw, two knives, a flashlight, and a Taser- all of which he managed to take with him during the fabulous escape from Privet Drive.

Perhaps, thought Harry, Dudley pissed his bed when he burst into his bedroom that night.

- Hey, what the bloody hell are you doing in my room?! - Yelled his cousin. – You're supposed to be locked up!

- Just came in to say good night - Harry grinned, while searching through the drawers. Finally he found what he came in there for– a regular, muggle flashlight that ran on batteries, and put it in his pocket.

- Hey! That's mine godammit!

- Mine now. Hogwarts has its share of dark nights you know.

- Give it back! - Dudley jumped out of his bed, something from the nightstand. - And do it right fucking now, now or I'll ...

- What? – teased Harry

Dudley quickly brandished a Taser that he had been keeping out of Harry's sight.

- Where the hell did you get that? - Harry was quite surprised, if not a little envious of Dudley's possession of such a pain dealing device.

- Dad bought it - boasted Dudley - especially if you tried anything crazy again!

- Really Vernon? - Harry laughed, like the main villain of a low-budget horror film. – For a gorilla like you, a big stick would've sufficed. You're even holding it wrong!

Dudley looked down at the Taser, and Harry capitalized on his lack of vigilance. In the second he had gained, Harry flew over and grabbed the little thing out of his hand - it was no more difficult for him than catching a snitch.

- Kids shouldn't be playing with bombs anyway - he said. - Well, I have to go, don't miss me too much… and oh! I think I'll be taking this as well? - he picked up a table radio with his free hand, continuing to point his newfound weapon at Dudley.

And now, with the Weasleys quietly asleep, it was time to experiment with it.

Harry made a second trip to the attic shortly after, this time returning with an owl cage in which, instead of the hunting Hedwig, sat a small, ugly garden gnome. The gnome was turning its unsightly head in all directions and cursing bitterly.

- Do you know what this is? - Harry asked, sitting down on the floor, next to the cage, while looking thoughtfully at the silent ghoul. - This cell. It's iron. And this - he showed ghoul the taser - is electricity. Iron – conducts electricity. Guess where this is going?

Ghoul listened to Harry, but in his eyes there was no trace of understanding.

- Then I will demonstrate. Give us some nice music, so nobody can guess what we're up to

Ghoul dutifully whaled and hit the pipes with his chunk of metal.

- Well, let's start -said Harry in a business like tone, quickly donning putting on Aunt Petunia's rubber gloves. – Today, you'll be Ted Bundy * - he added, referring to the gnome.

The Gnome screamed in despair.

2.3

One beautiful sunny morning, ten days after the arrival of Harry Potter, Arthur Weasley nearly fell off his chair when someone snuck up behind him and in a quiet and sad voice asked, "Would you lend me a minute of your precious time, Honorable Sir?"

Arthur Weasley was not a nervous or timid man, on the contrary, he had raised six sons, out of whom only Bill and Percey had any sense of self preservation, took care of Molly; who was as fierce as her hair, went to work every day, shaved and never forgot to raise the toilet seat. In fact it could've been argued that the man deserved a medal of honor for his hectic lifestyle. But now he was ready to admit that life under the same roof as Harry Potter made him nervous wreck. In this sense, Harry Potter could be compared to an undetonated muggle bomb during the war with Grindelwald - it's an atmospheric piece, but it's not something you would want at home. Arthur was somewhat bothered that his youngest son Ronnie – once a kind and quiet boy – hit garden gnomes on the head with a shovel, laughing like an epileptic, and demanded that Molly pay him for washing the dishes - the latter, however, Ron quickly regretted. After living with Harry Potter for a couple of days, Arthur finally understood whose influence it was.

And now, as aforesaid, when Potter suddenly came up behind him, Mr. Weasley flinched involuntarily.

-What? Oh ... yes, yes, of course, Harry. What is it?

Harry sat down across the table from him, nervously twisting a gnawed chicken bone with his scratched up fingers. He looked unusually uncomfortable.

- Mr Weasley, I don't even know where to start - mumbled Harry. - You know, I'm not sure if I can ask you these questions, but I could not sleep all night because I ... Usually, of course, boys ask their fathers such things, but you know, my father died, and I never really got along with my uncle… - with these words Harry sighed. – I feel like I should ask the twins or Ron instead, but I don't really think that they know. I thought about talking to some of the teachers, but I just can't, and ... sir, can you ...

Harry stopped, exhausted. Arthur Weasley coughed, embarrassed.

- Uh ... Harry, I appreciate your trust. Of course, you're old enough to be interested in these issues, and you can always ask me about what's bothering you.

- Really? - Harry happily exclaimed. - Excellent! Then you can tell me exactly how you enchanted your "Ford" transmission?

By the end of the lecture, Harry understood that he didn't understand much…about life in general and about charms and transmissions in particular. This left him in despair.

- Ron - he said to his friend later. - I never thought it would be so hard to become Terminator. I've always been a "hands on" learner. If you can touch it, drive a nail into it, twist its neck - yes, that's mine. But theory…I just... And now I'm afraid to say, I feel the need to go out and buy books. Well, tomorrow we'll go to Diagon Alley.

- Books? - Ron was horrified. – Did Hermione bite you or something? What the fuck are you talking about?

"Young Explosives Handbook," thought Harry, or "How to build a machine gun for Dummies," or "Atomic Physics for Beginner magicians", and perhaps a "Gunshot wounds" atlas with pictures –, the last ones not really relevant, but it'll help me sleep a little better at night. But enough of that, let's play some Quidditch!

- Quidditch ...wait, didn't mom take all the balls away, after the bludger broke a window in the kitchen?

- Aren't you slow today? - said Harry. - Why do we need the balls when the yards full of chickens?

The next day, "Flourish and Blotts" was crowded - in fact, people were queued on the street to get in. Harry wiped his glasses - he could not believe that the entire magical population of the UK suddenly got interested in knowledge – Hermione would've never been able to bite so many people.

- Either I'm missing something, or they're selling heroin… and they decided to have a "buy two hits get one free" sale – He voiced his theory to Ron and Hermonie.

Leaving Hermione to explain to Ron what heroin was, Harry pushed closer to the window, where he discovered the cause of excitement - a banner, which read:

"Only today! Gilderoy Lockhart will sign you a copy of his autobiography "Magical Me!"

Gilderoy Lockhart himself was sitting in back of the store at his desk, surrounded by countless posters of his own smiling and winking image. Such an abundance of Gilderoy, winking and shining, with his toothpaste advertisement like smiles, made Harry's eyes was glad he did not have epilepsy - otherwise he would have most certainly had a seizure. ** A guy with a strange looking camera was jumping around the celebrity

- I want…. - Harry muttered under his breath, to no one in particular. He never had a camera.

- Yes, he's so... - Hermione sighed dreamily somewhere near his ear. - He wrote almost all of our books ... oh, he's a real hero.

- Bullshit, - said Harry. - You mean this faggot?

- He's not a fag – Harrys remark had upset Hermione. – He's a metrosexual. ***

Meanwhile Gilderoy lifted his blue gaze to them, it absently slid over to Ron and Hermione, and stopped at Harry. Harry tried to escape behind his friends and out of sight, but he was too late.

- What's this? Do my eyes deceive me?! It's none other than the famous Harry Potter! - Lockhart yelled, diving into the crowd, grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him out of the crowd.

- Smile, smile Harry! - Lockhart said, posing for the camera. Harry gave his best 'smiling retard' face, squinting his eyes to his nose and opening his mouth, from which a thin stream of saliva stretched. Now he would have preferred to have epilepsy, as a seizure would have caused him to foam at the mouth and soil himself.

On their return to the Burrow, Harry grimly sat on his bunk with the glossy Lockhart volume, he was holding them as if they were printed on used, soiled, toilet paper.

- "Voyages with Vampires" - he read aloud. - Well, let us see…let us see...

As he read on, his expression of sullen discontent on his face changed to an expression of the deepest astonishment.

- Well fuck me sideways! – Harry proclaimed after he had read through it, loudly slamming the book.

Ron, who was sitting on the floor and playing chess with himself, raised his head and threw a puzzled look at Harry.

- Lockhart writes that vampires glitter in the sun!

* Ted Bundy - American serial killer executed in the electric chair.

In epilepsy ** certain frequency flicker can trigger an attack.

*** The author apologizes for anachronism - this term was two years after the events, but, LMFAO, Metrosexual was like a word made for Lockhart


	5. Chapter 5

GRAAAH, stupid machinery! - Harry yelled at the ford, when it, furiously snorting in exhaustion, drove into the Forbidden Forest, leaving them with Ron lying on the cold damp ground, and their luggage thrown about.

- Brainless piece of iron - Harry snarled, dragging the chest up to the castle. - If Mr. Weasley had managed to give it a free will, he could have at least given it a normal AI *! First it gets stuck in trees, and then it hurls bags ... Do you think I look like some innocent kid, who carries freaking teddy bears in his bags?. Shit could have detonated!

- I want to eat so fucking bad - complained Ron. - I think the feast has begun...

They went to the window, through which could see the brightly lit Great Hall, which just finished the whole sorting thing. Harry absently gazed at the four tables, then at the professors Table ...

- One of the chairs is empty, - he said. - Snape's absent.

- Maybe he's sick? - Hopefully suggested Ron. - Or he died. That would be cool.

- Or sunbathing in Miami Beach surrounded by beauties in bikinis.

- You have a sick imagination, Harry - Ron shuddered. - Maybe he's just been fired?

- Maybe - there was a cold voice from behind them - he is waiting for your explanation of why you did not come to Hogwarts on the train with everyone.

Boys spun. Before them stood Severus Snape himself, smiling - and his smile did not look good for them.

- Chil-circling hawk herald of darkness, the night is bat** - Harry muttered under his breath, and said aloud:

- Beautiful night today, isn't it, Professor?

Snape looked at him with contempt.

- Follow me - he snapped.

Ron and Harry trudged behind him through the empty lobby, past the Great Hall, down the stairs to the dungeon, to Snapes office.

Harry never liked Snape, but he still liked to poke fun at him- for which Snape took points off of Gryffindor faster than the fans took off their bras at a Rolling Stones concert. But, as it turned out, he had a wicked awesome office - dark, gloomy and decorated with many jars, in them floated all sorts of fascinating abominations. Harry thought it would be sweet to decorate the bedroom in Gryffindor Tower the same way, and already began planning designs and the dark corners where he'd hang the spider webs, when he was rudely interrupted by the owner of the office.

- So, - he said quietly - Hogwarts Express is not good enough for the famous Harry Potter and his trusty pal Weasley? We wanted to roll in with style, gentlemen?

Ron and Harry remained silent - firstly, because Ron had decided to leave the negotiating to his friend, secondly - because Harry was busy staring at the floating two-headed Doxy in one of the jars.

- What? -he was caught off guard by Professor Snape, he just realized he had been flapping his gums that entire time, but he quickly caught himself. - Yes sir, that is to say, no, sir, what is that thing you have floating there?

- Shut up! - Snape snapped. - What did you do to the car? You've been seen by the Muggles!

He unfolded the latest issue of the "Evening Prophet," and laid it out in front of the them.

- Technically - said Harry, - we did nothing to the car. As for Muggles – it's only enough to give Muggle newspapers a story about how they witnessed the shooting of a new Jackie Chan movie

- Shut up! I also found that there was significant damage brought to the extremely valuable Whomping Willow

- But it damaged us more! - could not help Ron.

- As a matter of fact - added Harry, - we were aiming for the twin towers, the south and the north astronomical ones.  
- Quiet! - Again interrupted Snape. - Unfortunately, the issue of your dismissal is beyond my Jurisdiction, so you'll have to wait here until I bring those who hold this joyful power.

- Professor! Wait a minute! - Harry grabbed onto his long black robes.

- What, Potter, begging for mercy? - Foully sneered Snape.

- No such luck professor – replied surprised Harry. - I actually wanted to ask, do the two-headed Pygmy Puffs exist?

2.5

- Harry - said Lockhart, - Harry, Harry, Harry ...

- What? Do you like my name so much that you like saying it over and over again? - asked Potter.

- Oh, Harry - Lockhart slyly winked at him and shook his finger. - When I found out ... it's entirely my fault. I was ready to kick myself ...

- Please do! - Harry blurted out, and suddenly remembering the rules of courtesy, added - Sir.

- Fly to Hogwarts in the car ... I understand why you did it.

Harry was stunned. This fag figured out his carefully planned scheme to annihilate all of humankind?

- Need for fame ... I understand you, Harry. You got to the front of the page with me and wanted to do it again! Fame hit you in the head, Harry. Of course, you're a little famous - I mean the whole…you know what with You-Know-Who, though it's not the same as winning the trophy for the most charming smile five times in a row, but this is just the beginning - just the beginning, Harry.

When Lockhart finally left, Harry stood for a long time staring after him in amazement.

- Good self-esteem, - he said. - The size of Hogwarts. And I thought that I had no sense of reality.

In the greenhouse, while Professor Sprout explained the procedures of working with mandrakes, Harry came up to Ron and Hermione.

- This week officially sucked- he said. Ron nodded; Hermione looked at them with a look that clearly read: guess whose fault that was.

- We have to stir something up - continued Potter.

-If you're caught doing anything else, they'll kick you out! - she warned.

- We know, Mom, - Harry snapped. - Therefore, it is imperative to remain anonymous. I was thinking something along the lines of a howler.

- To a special someone I'm guessing? - Ron started to catch on

- Not just someone - Harry grinned. - Snape. For all the good things he's done. Malfoys a backup but it won't be half as fun.

- This doesn't seem right - said Hermione. - And what exactly should it ... uh ... scream?

- Well, there may be options - said Harry. - For example, you can record a series of erotic moans.

- Why me? – asked angrily Granger.

- Because you're a girl said Harry in a reasonable manner.

- Harry Potter, you chauvinist pig! – She hissed turning pale. - One more word and I will turn your brainless head into a bag of dragon dung!

- Okay, okay - Harry raised his hand in a conciliatory gesture. - I only suggested.

He paused a moment, then said, smiling:

- A year ago, you'd run to complain to McGonagall, and now –the dung ... Just lovely, how people change.

- Who will tell us why the mandrake – is a very dangerous plant?- asked Professor Sprout. Hermione's hand shot up immediately, saving her from having to answer the provocative remark.

- The cry of a mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it - she rattled off.

- Absolutely! Five points to Gryffindor.

- Hey - Harry gently poked his friend in the side - Hey!

- What do you want? - She snapped.

- I thought of something better - excitedly whispered Harry, nodding toward the pots of dangerous plants. - We could record a crying mandrake onto the howler!

- Cool - praised Ron.

Hermione was not so optimistic.

- What, a week has passed in vain if you did not kill anyone? - She asked grimly.

- Oh, not exactly, didn't you hear Sprout? - Harry asked cheerfully, - the mandrakes are still small, and no one will die. They'll just get knocked out for a couple of hours

- Do not touch Snape, if he survives, we're all dead... - sadly said Ron.

- True, but what about Lockhart? He kinda pisses me off…

- Leave. Teachers. Alone! - She hissed like a sizzling pan.

- Then Malfoy - Harry went on, but then heard the sound to put on the headphones, and they were forced to put the dispute on hold.

A few hours later, sitting at his desk in the very last row, barricaded by the Lockhart textbooks, Potter wondered whether life could get any worse. Again caught by the paparazzi and again in the embrace of that fa...metrosexual! Harry picked up the quill and began to draw up an illustrated list of all the methods of execution that he knew. This calmed him down.

His mood improved slightly, but then when he got up to firing squad on his list, his work was interrupted by the culprit of his bad mood - Lockhart gave everyone "little quiz", as he called it.

- Holy crap - Harry cursed through his teeth. - Now I understand the inquisitors who burned wizards on a stake made of their own books!

So, favorite color ... Harry thought about the right color. Black ... definitely not, that's Snape's, that's really someone you can put on the front desk at a funeral home. Green ... he imagined Lockhart in a green hat with a shamrock in his mouth and a gun in his hand, dancing a reel to the sounds of explosions and screaming «Erin Go Bragh!» ***. And there's still the matter of his birthday and secret desire, not to menti...

- Stop! - Harry told himself, throwing the pen. – It's like Hermione contaminated me.

So instead, he passed Lockhart his list of executions.

2.6

- Well, - said Harry, looking around the room skeptically. -Frankly, I expected more. This is not the "Night of the Living Dead." Where are the laughing zombies, the stench of decomposing flesh, the rivers of blood flowing from sacrificed virgins?

- The stench is here, - said Ron, pointing to a huge table with various delicacies like wormy meat and rotten cheese.

- The mere smell in the absence of the rest does not please me, - said Harry. - Remind me again, why are we here and not in the kitchen slipping laxative into the pumpkin juice?

- Personally, I went to the deathday exclusively for learning purposes, - she said - and you two idiots apparently expected this to be fun.

The boys looked at each other sadly. Then Harry shook his shaggy head and proclaimed:

- Don't wait for someone to make things fun, make fun yourself!

- I'm afraid that might be a problem - Hermione said, nodding toward the ghosts. - They're already dead...

- That doesn't mean that they can't suffer - Harry grinned. - Hey, babe! - He said, referring to a shadowy middle-aged lady with long flowing hair and jaw, notable because of its absence.

- N-s-s - she groaned hollowly.

- What a charming dimple you've got on your chin, - continued Potter, but this time Hermione grabbed his and Ron's robes and unceremoniously dragged them to the opposite end of the hall.

- Hey! - Harry protested. - What are you doing? My social life just began improving!

She hissed angrily at him.

- Myrtle's here.

- Who is Myrtle? - Ron asked.

- Moaning Myrtle, the ghost that lives in the girls' toilets on the ground floor - Hermione explained. - It's always closed because she keeps flooding everything.

- Does she slowly climb out of the toilet, with her long black hair dripping water? -Harry said admiringly. - And everyone who sees her, dies in seven days? Hermione, introduce us!

Moaning Myrtle didn't have a mop of black hair, like Harry imagined – instead she had translucent hair that was quite sparse and tied in two lame pigtails. The hefty unattractive glasses on her round face did not add to her charm.

- Greetings, - Harry said, with a friendly smile. - Bored?

Myrtle looked at the boy with suspicion, but the look in his green eyes was serene and glowed with kindness and understanding.

- I'm Harry - he introduced himself. - You look very sad.

- I am very lonely - Myrtle admitted with a sigh.

- Really? - Sympathetic boy said.

- No one ... no one understands me - sobbed Myrtle. - Of course! Stupid, fat, ugly, Myrtle! They think that I don't know what they're saying about me behind my back.

- This is really terrible - Harry said. In his voice there was no trace of irony. - You know, no one likes me either.

- Really? - Asked Myrtle, sobbing.

Harry hung his head.

- They say that I should've been stifled with a pillow as a baby - he said sadly. - The world is so cruel, I think, only you know it, La Llorona.

- Wha…what did you call me? - Myrtle asked, suspecting another mockery.

- La Llorona - means the wailing one in Spanish - said Harry. - A beautiful ghost, mourning imperfection of the world and human cruelty.

- Oh-oh-oh, - said Myrtle, - you called me beautiful?

- Of course - Harry nodded solemnly. - True beauty – is the beauty of the soul, not everyone can see it.

- You really think so?

- Oh, La Llorona, how much these poor little people had to make fun of you, so now you can't believe even the most sincere words? I feel like crying when I think about it. But I am a man, and therefore hide the tears ... but my heart grieves.

- And I was crying - she began to sob Myrtle - I cry all the time, and they all-laaaugh!

- So prove them wrong! - Harry said, ominously flashing his glasses.

- How?

- You can get into their minds, bring anguish and grave cold. You can settle black despair into their souls, you can crush their callous hearts in your tender hands ... Oh, they'll beg you to stop, plugging their ears and crying for mercy!

- Yes, but how?

- Start writing poetry.

* AI (artificial intelligence) - artificial intelligence.

** Rudyard Kipling "Mowgli".

*** Ireland forever!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Interlude 2

Hermione Granger was a good girl. Sometimes a little too stubborn and annoying, but definitely good. She dreamed of social justice, artificial fur coats and total democracy. So she was sometimes surprised to find herself in the dubious company of sadistic bully and funny geek Harry Potter and waaay too lazy and greedy Ron Weasley.

The obvious reason was that nobody else wanted to be friends with her. Harry had straight up told her that though she was unbearable, she can be talked to without having to explain the meaning of every other word. This assessment of her intelligence - and she is rightly proud of it - was a second, less obvious reason.

However she was most pleased with the fact that without her, Potter and Weasley would have killed themselves by now, or gotten themselves expelled.

She didn't want to admit it but … Potter brought a sense of freedom to her life. His originality of thought, in her eyes, outweighed his faulty ethical decision making. After he ran through the hallways of Hogwarts - an absurd boy in tattered robes, stained with chemicals and blood, the pockets of which rattled with nails – the hallways were left with the noticeable scent of chaos. Chaos clearly smelled like gasoline.

Those whom Potter didn't cripple, he changed.

- Good girls go to heaven - he told Hermione. - And bad - wherever they want. * You like our glamorous professor? Carpe diem **, Granger.

From that day on, Professor Lockhart had no chance.

Traditional scheme - like love letters on pink paper and languid sighs - practical Granger brushed off immediately. Gilderoy (what a beautiful name!) had thousands of fans like that. The second scheme, it had been repeatedly successful was her famous image as a genius, always there with brilliant responses to the lessons, and papers that were at least a foot longer than required. It worked on nine out of ten teachers, but Lockhart was exactly the tenth one – Hermione's academic success was awarded with a few points and carelessly thrown praise.

To stand out from the faceless crowd fangirls, she needed something new, something revolutionary...

Hermione brought a dead rooster to his next class.

2.7

Harry was reading a Muggle physics textbook to distract himself from the discomfort caused by the growth of a new bone. Suddenly there was a quiet poof sound, and Potter saw the familiar wacky Elf Dobby appear on the bed next to his. Now his first meeting with the elf was very short and ended sadly for Dobby ("Wow again! Stronger! No, put down the desk lamp, I need it, if you really want to beat your head on something, better get a hammer. Oh -ah, how I love the sound of crunching bones on a summer evening ").

- Harry Potter, sir! - Squeaked Dobby.

- Oh, it's you? Still alive? - Harry said calmly, turning the page – this was uncomfortable to do with one hand.

- Sir, you promised!

- What did I promise? - Surprised Harry. – To marry you? Forget it, guys promise a lot of shit when they're drunk

- You promised to not go to Hogwarts!

- Big deal. Did you really think you could trust me? Off with you, I'm trying to understand Ohm's law.

- Harry Potter, sir, you are so stubborn! Why did you not listen to Dobby, why did you not come home when you missed the train?

- What? - Harry jumped, dropping the textbook. - So you're the son of a bitch who enchanted the barrier?!

Dobby backed away.

- Yes, sir, - he said sadly. - Dobby was so disappointed when I found out that you still arrived at Hogwarts. Dobby thought that the bludger...

- So, - Harry said in an unkind voice. - This is also your job? Decided to kill me, huh? You petty asshole?

Dobby shook his head.

- Kill? No, sir, Dobby just wanted you to stay home. You are in danger! The Chamber of Secrets ...

Dobby stopped when he realized that he blurted out too much, and started banging his head against the foot of the bed.

- Very interesting - Harry said wistfully watching his efforts. - So you think of me ... with uh ... care?

- Yes, sir! If Harry Potter knew what he means to us, powerless slaves! After his defeat of You-Know-Who a new dawn has risen over the world! The hope is that the dark days are finally over.

- So that's what they call deadly love - Potter chuckled. - Can you name at least one reason why I should not strangle you right now?

- Dobby is used to threats, sir. At home, he hears them five times a day.

- Poor thing - Harry said mockingly. - To think, that this pathetic piece of shit calls itself an elf. Indeed, Morgoth misrepresented your essence.

- What? - Surprised Dobby.

- Where is your self-esteem? - Asked Harry. - Where is your pride? Have wonderful songs Lórien gone silent, have the palaces of Elrond collapsed, do the Silver Haven white ships no longer sail over to the West?

Dobby was silent in disbelief, his ears twitching nervously.

- What about Elbereth Giltoniel? - ventured Harry.

Zero response.

- Tolkien fucked up – said Potter in disappointment, and turned to the wall.

2.8

- I don't understand the fuss with the Polyjuice potion, - Harry asked. - Lets just catch Malfoy and pinch his testicles between doors.

- And we wouldn't have to drink all sorts of rubbish with Slytherin pieces - Ron added.

- Look here! - Hermione crossed her arms and lifted her chin stubbornly. – I'm the one risking expulsion at any second here.

- When you put it like that - sighed Potter - even "Slytherin pieces" begin to sound appetizing. I call dibs on ribs!

- You just want to brew the potion, Hermione - Ron shrewdly observed. - I've always said that reading is bad for you...

- Back to the point - she said dryly. - For the potion we need pounded bocorn horn and bumslang skin. We can get them from Professor Snape's cabinet. Because you'd both be expelled if caught, I will be the one stealing. Any questions?

- Nein, mein fyurerin - Harry said, looking admiringly at her

- Do you think it would be that easy to get into the cabinet, completely unnoticed by Snape? - Ron asked.

- Will, if you get his attention, it shouldn't be. - Calmly answered the girl. - I think we have a sabotage specialist in here.

- It will be done in the best way, my queen - Harry assured her. - Slytherin with its dean can be scrubbed off from the floors with a spatula.

For effective sabotage Ron suggested using some magical fireworks, which he could borrow from the twins. The idea was a good one, but according to Harry, lacked finesse, however, as Hermione reasonably noted, his proposal was more due his burning desire to try his homemade dynamite. Activating the firecrackers proved to be difficult, Snape circled the class, like a sheep sick with stagger *** and an operation to divert attention had to be carried out in several stages, which included ignition of the hideous pink bow on Parvati Patil's pigtails and placing a pushpin on Nott's chair. Their loud cries made the rest jump in place, and there was no better time to throw explosives into Goyle's cauldron.

- I hope Hermione doesn't fail - Ron whispered anxiously.

- You could rob a bank with all the time we gave her- said Harry.

- I don't like the way Snape looks at you. He seems suspicious.

- Got it - and with that, Harry put two fingers in his mouth and puked in his own cauldron.

- Ew. What the… - Weasley winced, moving further away.

- I have to divert suspicion from myself, - hoarsely said Potter. - The more disgusting, the better. Besides, look at Snape! I have never seen such pure hatred before, not even looking in the mirror.

2.9

- They think it's me! - Harry's indignant cry echoed through the Gryffindor Tower.

- Well, I can understand them, - said Ron.

- But it's not my style! Tell me, Ron, would I take the time to paralyze a poor cat and then hang it on the wall by its tail?

- Knowing you, you'd probably hang Mrs. Norris on her own intestines.

- That's it! - Harry yelled, pointing his finger at Ron. - That's exactly right!

- But you speak parseltongue. Everyone thinks that you were trying to make the snake kill Finch Flechtli.

-I don't give a flying fuck about your Finch Flechtli - insulted, Harry snorted. – I mean… I was trying to make it have fun with Malfoy.

Potter began to run around the Gryffindor common room.

- Don't know why you're so mad - said Ron. - Your reputation is even more ominous now, rejoice.

- I do not need someone else's reputation, I myself am quite horrible. I provoke and abuse. I lie, sometimes, if in the mood, I even torture and kill a little. But I do things solely because I find them interesting and fun. Paralyzing someone, for example, would still be interesting, but to paralyze one person after another - it's not even fun. Why does everyone think I have a bad sense of humor?

- No Harry, - Hermione suddenly said, - I'm pretty sure everyone's to busy thinking about how you are Slytherins heir to consider that point of view...

Harry sighed.

- Well, people don't tend to have their own opinions.

Nobody argued with that

- I still don't get it - said Ron. – Did the Dueling Club get cancelled, or what?

- Closed - said Hermione. - Although at present, it would be nice to learn how to defend ourselves.

- Your beloved Lockhart was scared that next time he'd be smeared against the wall – LOLed the redhead.

- He's not scared! - Hermione stood up for her love. – He just had other things to do.

- Like, disarm magic traps on the door to his office, or chase zombie roosters out of his bedroom- Harry smiled. - By the way, teach me how to do that please.

- That depends on your behavior - she replied evasively, blushing.

- Wait a minute! - Said Ron. - Why I didn't I know about this? Have you decided to kill Lockhart or something?

- Don't be silly, Ron! It's just... a man like him, is accustomed to constant danger, certainly he must be terribly bored here at school. I was trying to make him a little happier.

- Hermione - Ron said seriously. - If you ever, uh, quite by chance, decide to make me happier - please warn me in advance, all right?

- We were discussing the Dueling Club - reminded Hermione, somewhat awkwardly changing the subject.

- What's to discuss? - Ron shrugged. - It's not open anymore...

- So, it's necessary to establish our own, - said Harry.

- What do you mean our own?

- I mean we make one.

- Do you think there will be many willing to join? - Doubtfully said Granger. - And if the teachers caught us, we'd be in trouble.

- The amount of people present – isn't a problem: for a fight, as well as for sex, two will suffice, and as for the teachers – we will observe secrecy- Harry said this carelessly looking to the ceiling.

- The first rule of the dueling club: Don't talk about Dueling Club - Harry said at the first meeting which only four, not including him dared to attend. - The second rule of dueling club: Don't EVER talk about the Dueling Club

In a week the number of members had doubled.

* "Good girls go to heaven and bad - wherever they want" - the name of the book William Erdhardt.

** Carpe diem (Latin) - carpe diem.

*** Stagger – a sheep disease caused by tapeworm. The sick sheep walks in a circle, until it dies


End file.
